


Fulfill My Fantasy

by ComeAlongPond14



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Clubbing, Comeplay, Dom John Watson, Light Dom/sub, M/M, One Night Stands, Sub Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 03:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2295614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeAlongPond14/pseuds/ComeAlongPond14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loosely inspired by the song "In My Head" by Jason Derulo:</p><p>"Everybody's looking for love;<br/>Ain't that the reason you're at this club?</p><p>Just leave with me now, say the word and we'll go-<br/>I'll be your teacher, I'll show you the ropes;<br/>You'll see a side of love you've never known.</p><p>In my head, I see you all over me;<br/>In my head, you fulfill my fantasy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fulfill My Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> ...I am so glad to post again. It is physical relief.
> 
> Anyway, storyboard for the lottery story--officially titled "Spinning," for future reference--is nearly complete, and therefore chapter one will very soon be written up. I can't wait to share it, though I admit, I'm afraid the chapters feel like they're going to be short. Hmph.
> 
> But in the meantime! I hope you enjoy this ridiculously detailed little smutlet that I couldn't get out of my head. :)

The pounding beat of the music reverberated in John Watson’s bones, rewriting his pulse with the insistent bass. Strobe lights splashed the faces and bodies around him with deep blues, reds, and purples. The air was thick with the smells of sweat, sex, and alcohol, bodies pressing and rubbing together deliciously.

He made it to the bar, sinking onto a stool and gesturing for a beer. He’d come out tonight to help cheer up Mike, who’d had a rough week with teaching. But John wasn’t finding the club scene quite as satisfying as he usually did. He wasn’t even sure exactly what he was looking for tonight.

_Turquoise eyes._

John paused, staring at the gap in the mass of writhing, dancing bodies where he had seen the flash of blue. They had seared right through him, alive with something dark and vibrant and hungry.

 _There_.

He was tall and pale, with dark hair, and astonishing glasz eyes, which locked hazily onto John as he danced. His loose black t-shirt was hanging off one shoulder as he moved, while a hand--his unseen dance partner, behind him--was sliding the hem up, groping the smooth stretch of stomach that was exposed. Leather pants that hugged his hips and thighs reflected the flashing lights as he twisted his body lazily to the beat.

John felt his mouth go dry as he watched the stranger dance, feeling pinned in place by the weight of his stare. His own gaze dropped, tracking the motion of the hand that was still exploring the man’s torso, and his breath caught as he found himself imagining what that pale skin must feel like, stretched taut across the faintly defined muscles of his abdomen.

The stranger tilted his head, eyebrows lifted as if in challenge. When John met his gaze again, he smiled, the pale cupid’s bow lips quirking in a sensual little smirk that was pure invitation. One hand lifted, reaching toward John in a lazy gesture, offering without demanding.

John was on his feet, downing his beer in a few more gulps, and wading back onto the dancefloor before he could talk himself out of it.

By the time he reached the stranger, he had managed to disengage from his dance partner, letting the shirt fall back into place. When John reached him, the younger man didn’t hesitate, slipping close and sliding his arms around John’s neck. Their bodies aligned, and John felt the air slide out of his lungs at the feeling of compact muscle and hard, pure male that pressed up against him.

He moved his hips in a slow circle, and watched with delight as the stranger’s pupils dilated with arousal. The dark-haired man dipped down, his lips roaming along John’s cheek and jaw until he reached his ear, and John shivered at the warm breath that tickled the sweat-dampened skin of his throat as the stranger whispered, “Sherlock.”

John’s hands tightened on his hips, holding him securely as he ground more roughly against him, making the taller man shudder with pleasure. “That’s your name?” He felt a nod, tucked into his neck, and he smiled. “I’m John."

Sherlock’s body shivered under his touch as he let his hands explore, slipping up beneath the loose fabric of his shirt to feel the hot, smooth expanse of his back. He was so thin, lithe, almost cat-like in the constant motion and fluidity of his body, and John wanted to stretch him out across the first available surface, to reduce him to nothing but whimpers and cries of pleasure.

Sherlock seemed determined to press himself as tightly against John as was physically possible. “Yes,” he breathed in John’s ear. “Whatever it is you’re imagining doing to me, John, I’d like you to do it. Please.”

_Well, that was...perfect._

John smiled against the warm skin of Sherlock’s cheek, which was still pressed against his own. “Your place or mine?” he asked teasingly. He wanted the other man, badly, but he wasn’t planning to shag him in a filthy nightclub loo.

A shudder ran through the taller man’s body, as if he were also picturing John fucking him. “I live right up the road,” he offered, a little questioningly, and John’s smile widened, realizing that Sherlock was willing to let him take charge. He nodded, turning to nudge the other man toward the exit, wasting no time.

It seemed Sherlock was of the same mindset. Immediately he was weaving through the gyrating bodies around them, exiting the crowd while keeping one hand firmly in John’s. He let himself be led, watching the way Sherlock’s hips shifted within their leather confines, and the way his back flexed and rippled as he dodged around a few wallflowers before he reached the door.

The night air outside felt cool and refreshing against John’s sweaty skin, despite the muggy summer they were having. Clear of the mass of bodies inside the club, he tightened his hand around the pale fingers clutching at it and yanked back, halting Sherlock in his tracks and causing him to stumble back toward the blonde man, looking confused.

John chuckled, turning aside and propelling Sherlock back against the brick wall of the club, enjoying the soft “Oof!” he emitted before John’s mouth was on his. He swallowed down the breathless little moan that slipped from the taller man, effortlessly dominating the kiss, letting the hand not gripping Sherlock’s drift up to cup his jaw, his fingers grazing that long pale throat, feeling the skin vibrate as the other man whimpered.

“Sherlock,” he murmured against those beautiful lips, tasting the name and finding it extremely satisfying. Ocean blue irises nearly eclipsed by pupil stared back at him, waiting. John smiled. “I just need to know you’ll be okay with this--with what I want from you.” Almost teasingly, his tongue darted out, lapping at the irresistible cupid’s bow of Sherlock’s mouth. “I’m--very dominant, in bed.” He felt the full-body quiver that ran through his companion, and his grin widened. He leaned back to take in the lustful expression on the dark-haired man’s face. “You okay with that?”

One eyebrow darted up, as if Sherlock found this conversation tiresome. “I’d walk away from anything less.” Pushing himself off the wall--John’s hand still rested at his neck, and the movement surprised him, sliding his palm into a light choke-hold around Sherlock’s throat--the taller man placed his hands on John’s waist, arching his hips so that the blonde man could feel his erection straining through the tight leather. “I want it,” he whispered hoarsely in John’s ear, and he shuddered at the heat and liquid lust in that damn voice. “I want to surrender to you.”

The words slid over John’s skin and into his blood like a drug, and he licked his lips, letting the control simmer pleasurably in his veins. Then he twisted away, seizing Sherlock’s hand and nudging him ahead until the other man stumbled into motion, leading the way, but letting John keep command of the contact between them, his hand firm around Sherlock’s.

He only really registered their surroundings when they stopped next to a little cafe--long-closed, at this hour--at a door marked 221 in gold letters. Sherlock fumbled with keys, unlocking the door and letting them both in. He put a finger to his lips and nodded at the door across from them, from which show tunes could be faintly heard playing on a tinny radio, but before John could become concerned that he was implying that _he_ lived in there--with someone inclined to listen to show tunes at one in the morning--Sherlock was heading up the stairs quietly, and John followed him gratefully.

At the top, they reached the door marked B, and John was patient only long enough for Sherlock to unlock it and let them in before he pounced.

The door thudded shut under Sherlock’s back as John’s weight pinned him to it, the taller man letting out a grunt of surprise and desire as he found himself trapped, his keys dropping to the floor in a clatter as John grasped his wrists, raising his hands above his head. Their mouths crashed together, John’s tongue demanding command of his partner’s, tracing the sharp line of his teeth as Sherlock opened to him. The taller man slumped a little, utterly compliant to the dominant man’s touch.

John’s hands were wandering, sliding from Sherlock’s hands--to his delight, the other man obediently kept them raised--down his face and neck, over his chest, around his waist, then gradually over his arse, feeling the well-toned muscle flex beneath his palms. He squeezed, hard, savoring the muffled groan Sherlock emitted into his mouth as he hauled his hips closer, grinding their clothed cocks together.

And then his mind went oddly blank in a flash of white as his fingers probed just a little further down, and he encountered the distinct hardness of a solid round shape, buried snugly between Sherlock’s arse cheeks.

John ripped their mouths apart, staring in surprise into the verdigris eyes as his fingertips traced over the protruding disc-like handle of the plug. For his part, Sherlock merely looked mildly curious, as if he wondered how the blonde man would react.

“You’ve got a plug in,” he got out, and the dark-haired man smirked a little, pushing his hips back so that the aforementioned object nudged into John’s hand again.

“Yes, I have,” he said, a little breathlessly. “I’m all stretched out, just waiting for your cock, John.” He leaned in close, his lips brushing John’s ear and his tongue lapping at the sweat beading on the flesh beneath it before he whispered hoarsely, “I knew I’d find you tonight, knew I’d find someone who could take me just the way I need it...not asking, not caring what I say, just spreading me out and fucking me till I can’t even scream anymore...I wanted to be ready. Take the plug out and I’m open, loose and slick and so ready and desperate for your cock, please John...please fill me up...”

The words painted an image so enticing and seductive in John’s mind that he could not even think to say no. He grabbed the front of Sherlock’s shirt, yanking the lanky man around and shoving him, watching in satisfaction as he stumbled back till he could half fall into, half sit in the regal black leather armchair sitting near the window. Sherlock was looking at him with eyes that were nearly black from how far his pupils had dilated, and John grinned, striding to stand over him, cupping one hand over his own prick and stroking lightly as he jerked his chin at his the other man.

“Take your trousers down, then, let’s see what you’ve done for me, pet.”

Sherlock sucked in a breath, grinning, and stood to undo and shove down those fuck-all amazing leather trousers. Kicking them away impatiently, he returned to kneeling on the armchair with his hands braced on the back, and glanced coyly at John over his shoulder.

The blonde man grinned wolfishly back, reaching out a hand to brush the draping black fabric of Sherlock’s t-shirt up and over his hips. Against the pale perfection of his backside and thighs, the plug stood out in stark contrast, a small circle of black silicone concealing John’s target from view. Letting out a soft sound of appreciation, he touched the flared base gently, nudging it just a little, and his gaze jumped up to watch Sherlock as he twitched from the sensation.

John licked his lips, dropping to a crouch in order to closely study the display before him. “When did you put this in, love?”

Sherlock shivered slightly in the cool night air, his fingers clenching rhythmically on the leather of the armchair. “Before the club,” he murmured back. “I wanted to wear it while I danced.”

John’s mind leapt back to the sight of Sherlock dancing with some stranger, his body writhing sensually to the pulse of the music, and his own prick jumped eagerly as he imagined how the plug would have felt, pressing in deep as he ground back against his partner. Grinning, he straightened up and reached to brush a hand through Sherlock’s hair, tugging just a little. “So you’re nicely stretched out by now, then, aren’t you. Ready for me to slip that right out of you and find a better use for your hole, hm?”

The words made Sherlock shudder needfully, and he arched his hips up, as if presenting the plug for John’s removal. “Yes, yes, _God_ , a thousand times, yes,” he replied, his lean shoulders trembling visibly, even in the dim light. “Please John, please just use me, use my hole, just for your pleasure.”

John chuckled, stepping back to unbutton his own shirt, leaving it hanging open as he promptly moved on to his trousers. Yanking them open--mentally cheering that he’d acted on the impulse to not wear any pants tonight--John drew his cock out, stroking it idly as he stepped around to the side of the chair, where Sherlock could see him. “I’ll need a little something from you, love,” he said in a low voice, raising his free hand to brush just the tips of his fingers over the other man’s beautiful cupid’s bow lips.

Sherlock’s icy eyes widened a little in excitement, then drifted closed as he twisted on the chair, leaning forward and descending to sink his mouth down over John’s cock. It was wet, sloppy, intended to get him slick, not get him off--and John fucking loved it. His head rolled back on his shoulders and he let out of a moan of appreciation, savoring the way Sherlock simultaneously focused on soaking and sucking him, until he felt him slide away with a faint, wet pop, smacking his lips in satisfaction at the blissed out look on John’s face.

The shorter man chuckled, moving behind him once again. “No need to look so smug,” he teased with a grin, spitting on his fingers and using them to gently begin sliding the plug free. A sudden thought had him pausing, mentally scolding himself as he released the base of the plug. “Sherlock, are you--do you have any condoms?” _Stupid_ , he thought at himself, _careless, not bringing any myself. Didn’t expect to be getting this tonight, though, did I?_

Sherlock glanced back at him, eyes wide and pupils blown. “I’m clean,” he said softly. “If--if you’re alright with it, I’d rather we didn’t have to--I prefer it bare.”

There were a dozen things to object to about that, but looking into those electrifying blue eyes, John could not be bothered with a single one of them. “Right,” he answered, his voice unsteady. “I’m clean, as well. Yeah, I’m...I’m good with that.” He looked down, noticing that he’d gotten the plug a little of the way out, and he could see the way that Sherlock’s arsehole was stretched around it, the muscle waiting for something bigger to work it open. His cock jumped slightly, reminding him of his endgame. “Lube,” he got out. “Have any nearby? I want to be gentle getting that out.” He glanced up, meeting Sherlock’s gaze. “Because once it’s out, I don’t intend to be gentle in the least.”

It was comical, watching the remaining circles of blue iris practically vanish behind Sherlock’s pupils. His hand disappeared down under the cushion of the chair, digging for a second, before he held it out triumphantly, offering John a half-empty bottle of medical lubricant. The blonde man grinned, accepting it, and popped the cap open to drizzle a little onto the stem of the plug. “Keep this nice and near, do you?” he asked teasingly. “Do you just sit here in this chair and have a wank whenever you’ve gone too long without letting someone shove you around, make you their toy, like I’m going to?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied instantly, and his breathless tone made John’s cock harder, drawing a little sigh of pleasure from him as he discarded the lube and carefully worked the plug free, tossing it onto the nearby table, next to a closed laptop and piles of newspapers clippings.

Sherlock shuddered as the silicone bulb pulled free, the spread-wide muscle of his entrance winking temptingly at his audience. His low voice was dark with lust as he spoke again. “Sometimes I sit here utterly bare and work myself open, riding my own fingers, and I fuck myself until I can take my whole hand. I won’t let myself come, I have to feel how loose and open I am, and I pretend I have someone...someone who is there to order me to take it, to fill myself up and not to come until I can take it all...”

John lined himself up and swiftly thrust inside Sherlock, pressing deeply into him, and reveled in the way that his voice cut off with a cry of pleasure as he was impaled. The dark-haired man arched up, pushing his hips back against John’s, his head flung back as he submitted to the pounding rhythm that John quickly established. The delicious slap of skin-against-skin filled the room, mingling with John’s grunts of exertion and Sherlock’s low moans and whimpers of, “Yes, God yes, like that, John, harder....”

At one point his breath hitched, and John glanced down to see that Sherlock had a hand beneath his own body, stroking his leaking cock. Growling, he reached down and seized the man’s wrist, dragging it out from underneath him and pinning his hand to his lower back. “Your pleasure is mine to control tonight, pet,” he ground out, his hold on Sherlock’s hand giving him the leverage needed to haul the lanky man’s body back against his own, and Sherlock gasped out his name in thrilled surprise, fucking himself back onto John’s cock.

Tangling his fingers with Sherlock’s and savoring the sight of their fingers twined together, the other man’s pale flesh practically glowing in contrast to his own tan skin, John shifted his weight, changing the angle of his thrusts until he could successfully hit-- _ah_ , there it was. Sherlock let out a strangle cry of, “Oh, God, _John_!” and dropped his forehead against the back of the chair, his whole body twitching and shaking as John pounded ruthlessly against his prostate, driving him toward an inevitable explosion.

It took only a moment more of this onslaught for Sherlock to crack, flinging his head back up and whimpering, “Please, please, John, _please_ let me come, let me come for you, oh my _God_ , please...”

Grinning, John released his hold on the other man’s hand--humming in approval when Sherlock had the sense to keep it where it was of his own volition--and bent forward, folding the length of his body over Sherlock’s. Reaching around, he found the man’s bobbing erection unerringly, closing his fist around it with an almost too-tight grip. Sherlock shuddered from head to feet, his body quivering against his partner’s, and John turned to nip lightly at his ear, beginning to stroke him rapidly. “Yes,” he murmured in Sherlock’s ear, loving the way the other man seemed to focus all of his senses at once on the sound of John’s voice. “Yes, love, I want you to come for me--come all over this nice leather of yours, so that every time you sit here after tonight, every time you jerk off with your fingers up your own arse--it’ll be my voice you hear, controlling you, setting the pace and telling you when you may finish--my hands you imagine on your prick, stroking you and ordering you to let go, to come--come now, Sherlock!”

With a strangled cry, the taller man obeyed, his back arching far enough that he nearly stood up underneath John, his ebony curls tickling the dominant man’s cheek as Sherlock came, crying out his name in ecstasy, his climax pulsing in warm spurts over John’s fingers, and the sweat-slicked leather of the armchair.

John groaned low in his throat at the sensation of Sherlock’s body spasming around his cock, feeling as if his orgasm were being milked out of him. He clenched his teeth and pushed it back down, because it was not time yet--he was not finished with his playmate just yet.

“You’ve made such a pretty mess there, pet,” he said softly, his voice hoarse with arousal as he watched Sherlock twitch through the aftershocks of his pleasure. He saw the man’s eyes open, the thin slivers of pale blue bright and glassy from the endorphins as he looked down at the evidence of his satisfaction, striped across black leather and tanned skin.

Licking his lips, Sherlock did not wait to be ordered, but leaned forward--with John’s cock still buried inside him, making the blonde man groan at the movement--and began to lap up the salty fluid on his fingers, working until he had cleaned the entire hand. John fisted his hand in Sherlock’s shirt to dry it off, then tightened his grip in order to force Sherlock’s torso down a little, confronting him with the rest of his own spilled release. “And the rest of it, love,” he whispered, enjoying the way Sherlock shivered at his tone. “Clean up after yourself, and then I’ll use this pretty hole of yours to finish myself off, hm?”

“Yes, _please_ John, please use me for your pleasure--” Sherlock was rambling just a little, his whole body loose and languid from his orgasm, and John gave him a rough shake even as he chuckled, pushing down hard enough that Sherlock slipped, his cheek coming down to smear his own come across the leather.

“Lick it up,” John growled, and grit his teeth against the surge of lust he felt as Sherlock obeyed, his tongue darting out to lave across the chair and gather up every last drop of pearly white fluid, his throat working visibly as he swallowed down his own bittersweet flavor.

Pulling out abruptly--grinning at the low whine of protest that Sherlock made in response--John dragged his body up, twisting him to press a fierce kiss to his wet, open mouth. His tongue chased inside, and he could just catch the taste of the other man’s come, which he sucked hungrily off of his lips. Sherlock whimpered into his mouth again, wriggling slightly, and John shifted to let him turn his whole body around to face his partner.

Their arms wound around one another’s waists, clutching each other almost painfully close as they kissed, and eventually John had to twist away to breathe, sighing in pleasure as Sherlock promptly descended on his throat, sucking and tonguing at the flesh, no doubt leaving a few interesting marks for the next morning.

“Turn with me, pet,” he mumbled, tightening his hold to guide Sherlock in a small circle, bringing himself back against the chair. Sinking down onto the leather--distantly glad he’d kept his trousers up, as it seemed poor manners to place your bare arse on someone else’s furniture--John tugged Sherlock down on top of him, and the lanky man grinned as he came willingly, straddling his thighs.

Checking that there was still plenty of lube drenching Sherlock’s hole, John grasped his hips and positioned him, pausing for a single breath with the head of his prick rubbing tantalizingly over Sherlock’s entrance. “My turn now, pet, and I want you to show me how much you want it--you have to do the work. Ride my cock, love, show me how badly you want me to come inside you.”

Sherlock was visibly trembling with the desire to sink down, and at John’s nod, he did so eagerly, his body swallowing up John’s prick and making him moan in pleasure at the tight, wet heat of his lover. All inhibitions were cast aside; Sherlock rode him with abandon, his thighs flexing beautifully and glistening with perspiration as he dragged himself up and down, inner muscles squeezing and stroking and driving John mad with bliss.

Then Sherlock curled into his chest, returning to his earlier process of kissing and biting at the sensitive flesh of John’s throat, and the blonde man arched up in the chair a little as his weak spot was exploited, his hips moving unconsciously toward the goal of filling this beautiful creature up with come, owning him, marking him as claimed.

Speaking against his skin, Sherlock rumbled, “I can feel how close you are--please, John, please just use me--I want you to come inside me so badly, I want to feel you filling me up, and let it drip out of me--”

John cried out softly in combined pleasure from the words, from Sherlock’s panting, lust-addled tone, and from the sensation of his hole clenching down around John’s cock, his body begging to give John this, to fulfill his fantasy in every way. Fingers digging into the pale hips bouncing above his own, John tightened his hold until Sherlock stopped squirming, then planted his feet firmly on the thinly carpeted floor and began thrusting upward, hard and fast, catapulting toward his own climax and gritting his teeth at the tidal wave of pleasure he felt as Sherlock flung his head back and made an inhuman-sounding noise of bliss, taking the pounding and clutching helplessly at John’s shoulders.

John’s orgasm slammed through him, leaving him feeling as if every vein was suddenly aflame with pleasure. He fell back into the armchair with a groan of satisfaction, his hands sliding aimlessly along the length of Sherlock’s pale waist and hips. For his part, Sherlock seemed to become boneless, slumping forward to curl against John, his lips roaming absently along the blonde man’s collar bone.

“Well,” John said, more than a little breathlessly. “That was...that was incredible.”

Sherlock turned his face to peer up at John, grinning drowsily. “I quite agree.” Nuzzling slightly at John’s throat, his voice dropped a little. “Will you--do you need to leave soon? Or...could you stay? Share a shower, get some sleep here?”

It occurred to John that it had been months since he’d had a partner who was genuinely  inclined to submission--and he had nearly forgotten how easily some could experience drop if they didn’t receive proper aftercare. He smiled against Sherlock’s inky curls. “I’ll stay,” he murmured, stroking a hand along the sweat-damp skin of the man’s back. “A hot shower and a good sleep sound fantastic right about now--and some cuddling, if you’re the type.”

It was the correct offer to make. Sherlock smiled sleepily, nodding, and carefully disengaged himself, standing and offering a hand to John. Rising as well--and finally kicking his jeans off properly, already regretting that he’d have to wear the stained, sweaty things home in the morning--John took his hand, letting Sherlock lead him down the hall to the bathroom.

When they had stripped down and run a steaming shower--John taking care to soap Sherlock down, rubbing his skin gently, conveying concern and affection through his touch and enjoying the way that Sherlock obviously appreciated it--they stumbled into the bed in the next room, barely able to exchange sleepy “goodnights” before they were both drifting off, legs tangled together beneath the sheets.

* * *

Sherlock woke alone the next morning, and it took a long moment for the events of the evening before to catch up to him. For a tense second his heart stuttered, the usual rush of anxiety and self-reprimand surging up, staring at the empty pillow beside him.

Then he noticed the glass of water and the two Advil sitting on the empty bedside table, next to a folded sheet of paper.

Sitting up slowly--there were aches and protests from particularly sensitive regions of his body, making him half-smile as memories of last night surfaced with clarity, bringing a slight blush of pleasure to his cheeks--Sherlock leaned back against his own pillow, drawing the sheet up around his waist. It had been a long time since he’d brought someone home from a club--but he’d never encountered someone like John before. He was honestly a little surprised the man had gone already.

Reaching out, he downed the pills and took a long drink of water, appreciating John’s sensibility and kindness. When the glass was empty, he set it aside, and picked up the paper with a flutter of anticipation in his stomach.

_Sherlock~_

_I’m so sorry you’re waking up alone--I would’ve nudged you to at least say good morning, but you just looked so peaceful and content, I couldn’t bring myself to disturb you. I wish I could’ve stayed, but I have the early shift at the surgery where I work, and I can’t really call in to say I won’t make it because I’ve had the best shag of my life and want to stay for round two...well, now I’m tempted to...but my boss wouldn’t be too pleased..._

_Right, anyway. Last night was amazing. I would absolutely love to see you again, if you’re interested. Ring me up if you’d like to get dinner, or drinks or something...or we could go dancing....feel free to prepare in advance again...._

_Bugger, now I’m going to be hard at work all day thinking of you. I desperately hope I hear from you._

_Yours,_

_John Watson_

Beneath the tidily scrawled name there was a mobile number. Sherlock grinned, launching himself out of bed to locate his own phone, which was probably still trapped in the impossibly snug pockets of his favorite leather trousers.

Digging it out, he tapped in the number that he had memorized instantly, then hesitated. What to say? His eyes darted up, and fell upon the black silicone plug, still sitting where John had discarded it on his living room table, still smudged with now-dried lube from his pre-club ministrations of yesterday evening.

He imagined meeting John at the club, entering together, dancing not as strangers now, but as lovers, who knew one another intimately--and he imagined John’s reaction when he’d lean in and whisper that he had obeyed his suggestion, and that he was stretched and plugged and ready for round two whenever John was.

Grinning broadly, he began to type.

**Author's Note:**

> I had to do a ton of google research for info on anal plugs and safe use, not having explored it personally before. If anything seems wrong, unsafe, or weird, let me know for sure!


End file.
